The Rarest Faith III: Healthy Irreverence
by Marguerite1
Summary: Third in the six-part series of post-administration stories. The year 2008.
1. 1 of 5

THE RAREST FAITH III: HEALTHY IRREVERENCE  
  
Classification: Post-administration, political, romance.  
Summary: 2008   
"Fortunately, there are still those among us who have a healthy  
irreverence toward power, even as they seek it."   
--Weir Reid  
  
***   
New York City February   
***  
  
Six people walked C.J. from her dressing room to the studio. They wore  
headphones, waved clipboards, and each seemed intent on talking louder than the  
others.  
  
"How'd you get the names?"  
  
"Did anyone contact the R.N.C. for a rebuttal? The D.N.C.?"  
  
"Are they white supremacists, too?"  
  
"No, asshole, one of the book's authors is black! But, C.J., what about--"  
  
That did it.  
  
C.J. spun around, hands flailing. "Just stop! Knock it off! I've cleared this  
with every official up to and including the president of the network, and  
they've given me the green light. I know how to do things like this - this game  
was my bread and butter for nine years!"  
  
She succeeded in getting three seconds of stunned silence before the cawing  
began afresh. Shrugging her shoulders, she took long-legged strides away from  
her pursuers and breezed into the studio.  
  
"C.J.," began Andrew, one of the directors, but C.J. thrust her hand near his  
face and waved it.  
  
"No, no, no. And you need to get the Goon Squad out of the hall or someone in  
the green room will catch on. This thing won't work if it's not a surprise."  
  
Andrew was one of the few staff members who listened to her. C.J. actually liked  
him. He took a step backward and removed his headphones. "It makes me nervous.  
It's sort of like a bear trap."  
  
"It's exactly like a bear trap. And I'm the honey," she said, favoring him with  
a smile that he made an honest effort to return. "Look, I know you're a little  
strung out about what I'm going to do, but I promise you that I've done my  
homework - actually, lots of people who are smarter than I am have done their  
homework and passed notes to me - and that I'm at the absolute top of my game.  
What you see here tonight isn't just about ratings. It's going to galvanize the  
country. This fifteen minutes of footage will be played and replayed and  
discussed until the end of time."  
  
"That's fitting," Andrew said around a grimace.  
  
"But of course." C.J. squeezed Andrew's arm and went over to her desk. She was  
immediately surrounded by makeup artists and cameramen. "Just make sure you  
don't let me be shiny. I don't want to be shiny."  
  
"One not-shiny C.J., coming up," said one of the makeup women cheerfully. "You  
seem a little edgy - is something the matter?"  
  
"Nah. I just knew the guy from an unpleasant exchange at the White House, and  
that memory is replaying like yesterday's lunch." C.J. knew that palpable  
tension would be contagious. That would never do. That's why Andrew was  
sequestered in his corner and why the vultures in the hall needed to be caged  
up. Get the crew in a lather and the guest will be spooked. And oh, what a  
guest.  
  
C.J. hated having to read the news, which was particularly bland that evening.  
But there were twelve minutes to fill before the first commercial, and rushing  
through the stock market report wouldn't get her to her goal any faster.  
Besides, her cool, professional, detached reading would lull everyone, including  
her guest, into the kind of level complacency that would make him putty in her  
hands.  
  
With every fiber of her being, C.J. wished that the old staff could be in the  
studio as John VanDyke lumbered into view. Rotund, florid, and clueless, he  
stopped one of the gaffers and asked if she were C.J. "Craig."  
  
You're mine, C.J. thought. Son of a bitch, you're mine.  
  
"Reverend - over here," she called, waving toward what was obviously the guest  
chair. She forced herself to get up and shake his hand. Clammy. Of course. "I'm  
C.J. Cregg, Reverend. You might remember me from the White House."  
  
That jogged his memory. His eyes narrowed into piggy slits below his white  
eyebrows. "Ah. Yes."  
  
Truly one of Josiah Bartlet's finest moments had been when he'd said to VanDyke,  
Marsh, and Caldwell - although C.J. had a soft spot in her heart for Caldwell -  
to get their "fat asses" out of his White House.  
  
The look on Josh's face had been beyond description.  
  
Those, indeed, were the days.  
  
Jed Bartlet wasn't in the studio with her, but C.J. felt his presence as surely  
as if he'd been hovering behind her chair with his hands on her shoulders.  
"We'll just get someone to slip that microphone on you, Reverend, and when we  
get back from commercials and the local news break, I'll introduce you. In the  
meanwhile, would someone get Reverend VanDyke some water, and maybe a little  
more powder? He's glowing just a bit."  
  
"That's very kind. Thank you."  
  
"You're welcome." She managed a bright smile. "I think we're about to go."  
  
"Live," called Andrew as if on cue, "in four...three...two..."  
  
"Good evening, and welcome back to the show. My guest this evening is the  
Reverend John VanDyke, newly-elected Chairman of the Council for American  
Policy. Thank you for being here tonight, Reverend."  
  
"Thank you, Miss Craig."  
  
C.J. decided to let the "miss" slip. "Cregg, but don't worry, lots of people  
make that mistake." Yeah, but not on national television as an invited guest,  
squidboy.  
  
"I beg your pardon."  
  
You ain't seen nothin' yet, bud.  
  
"Not necessary at all, Reverend. Now, what can you tell me about your  
organization, the Council for American Policy?"  
  
VanDyke faced the camera with the red light on it - nice, good that you know  
that much - but made the mistake of "barreling," of staring directly into the  
diaphragm of the lens. Watching her monitor, C.J. noticed, with amusement, that  
he looked as if he were on a "wanted" poster.  
  
"We're a think-tank, Miss Cregg, of conservatives in both the Democratic and  
Republican parties. A non-partisan organization that devotes itself to  
conservative principles."  
  
"And what, exactly, does your group espouse?"  
  
"Conservative principles."  
  
Could this be any better? No, probably not.  
  
"Are you speaking of fiscal conservatism, social conservatism...?" She leaned  
forward with her eyebrows raised, taking notes in the margin of her little book.  
  
"Ah. I see." He stopped and took a sip of water. "Our primary concern is a  
conservative social agenda."  
  
"Could you give an example?"  
  
"An end to the fraudulent use of welfare by women unwilling to earn their  
livings, and to the needless propagation of indigent children."  
  
"So you support birth control? Contraceptives being covered by health  
insurance?"  
  
"Uh, well, we think that abstinence is the best...uh, method."  
  
C.J. scribbled Sam's name in the margin and drew a heart around it. "So your  
organization believes that the best method of population control is to keep poor  
people celibate?"  
  
I dare you to say no, asshole.  
  
Still staring directly into the lens of the camera, VanDyke wiped his face with  
a handkerchief. "Well, if people can't afford to have children, then perhaps  
some reduction in...appetites...could be useful."  
  
She let that one hang in the air for a while. Gave the public a few moments to  
soak in the incredible stupidity of the remark.  
  
"Going back to - am I quoting you correctly here? 'Fraudulent use of welfare by  
women unwilling to earn their livings?' Could you clarify that for our viewers?"  
  
"I mean simply that anyone who takes from the system should give back to the  
system. We say that forty hours a week is what most Americans work, and these  
women should be no different."  
  
"Goodness knows I work a lot more than forty hours a week - and I'm sure you do,  
as well."  
  
"Naturally!" VanDyke seemed relieved to be in agreement with C.J. on something.  
  
Therefore, it was time to strike. C.J. kept her smile bright as she looked at  
VanDyke over the rims of her glasses. "So, of course, the C.A.P. has plans for  
funding daycare so that the women whose lives are bound up by poverty and poor  
education will have a chance to redress these problems."  
  
Nothin' but net.  
  
She decided to plunge right back in. "While you're thinking about that,  
Reverend, perhaps I could ask you about the C.A.P.'s reading program."  
  
VanDyke blinked. "I'm sorry, I don't understand the question."  
  
Even though she knew this information better than her own phone number, C.J.  
pretended to consult her notebook. "Sources report that the organization has a  
reading list, a sort of book club. Could you let us know what sort of books  
you're reading?"  
  
Shifting in the chair, VanDyke forced a smile. "Well, of course, we start off  
with readings from Scripture. And we don't meet on government property, so don't  
even start about church and state issues."  
  
Ooh, almost a fair fight. She put her hand over her heart and opened her eyes  
wide. "That wasn't at all what I was about to ask, Reverend." Take three beats,  
she heard Toby say in her mind, then go for the killshot. "Is your group  
familiar with a series of books called "End of Days?"  
  
"We...I mean, I don't know for certain what every man in the Committee for  
American Policy keeps on his bookshelf..."  
  
Dust bunnies and gum wrappers, C.J. thought, but she said nothing.  
  
"...but I know that a number of Christians have read and learned a great deal  
from the books. The sixth volume was number one on the Times bestseller list for  
most of last year."  
  
"Yes, indeed." Andrew was making a "go to commercial" sign but C.J. pretended  
not to notice. Let the network make its money back in the replay rights. "From  
what I hear, members of your committee have given a great deal of input to  
President Schiller on his Middle East policy, as have the books' writers, Tommy  
Jansen and Gerald Hayward."  
  
"We serve at the pleasure of the President, of course," VanDyke said smoothly,  
and C.J. had to fight back the urge to retch. "We Christians believe that we  
must don spiritual armor and offer our full support to the Jewish state.  
Something that, I must add, many leftist Jewish groups are failing to do."  
  
C.J. got a mental image of the cozy living room of a beautiful old New Hampshire  
home, where steam was coming out of Toby's ears. And somewhere in Washington,  
D.C., Josh was doing a spit-take with a mouthful of beer.  
  
"And what is the interest of conservative Christians in a Jewish state? Could it  
be that you're interested in getting Jews to leave this one?"  
  
"Not just the Jews," VanDyke started, then he stopped himself and just stared  
into the camera.  
  
The entire crew stopped moving.  
  
"I'm sorry, let me rephrase that."  
  
"Please do," C.J. said, letting iciness creep into her tone at last.  
  
"While we would welcome the realization of the Jewish people that they've been  
wrong to reject the messiahship of our Lord, Jesus Christ, our interest in the  
state of Israel is purely altruistic."  
  
"And has nothing to do with the widely-held belief that the existence of Israel  
is essential for the second coming of Christ?"  
  
"I don't have to answer that question," VanDyke huffed.  
  
"No, Reverend, you do not - although I believe you just did. I won't need your  
answer. I also won't need the sworn affidavits of two former clerks whose jobs  
were threatened if they didn't read the books and come to meetings, and I  
probably won't need the list of names of the prominent Republican and Democratic  
lawmakers, judges, and other public figures who, interestingly enough, backed  
the 'Christian Nation' bill that didn't get out of committee and are treating  
these books as modern-day gospel."  
  
"We believe in the End of Days!" cried VanDyke. "And you, who claim to be a  
Christian, you should believe, too. But you're too busy fornicating with a Jew!"  
  
"That's it, I'm going to commercial," Andrew declared, and the red light on  
VanDyke's camera winked off. VanDyke got out of the chair as fast as his  
corpulent frame would allow, and shook his finger at C.J. "You should be  
ashamed. I will rebut your villainous statements and make you regret them all."  
  
"Are you threatening me?" C.J. asked, keeping her voice low and controlled.  
  
"You can be sure of that. And you can be sure that my people will come after  
you, and all your bleeding-heart liberal friends, and make you sorry that you  
ever dared cross me. Our organization counts as loyal members not only  
Congressmen and Senators, but also the Vice-President of the United States."  
  
Motherlode on the B-roll. Andrew had left one live camera off to the side.  
"C.J., Reverend, excuse me, but we're hot," he said, furrowing his brow in mock  
concern.  
  
"I thought we went to commercial," C.J. replied, trying not to burst out  
laughing at the way VanDyke's eyes bulged.  
  
"We did, but this is being fed to our affiliates. Of course I'll put out a call  
that it's not to be used. I'll, uh, take care of that right now." Andrew walked  
off in the opposite direction of his office, leaving C.J. with her apoplectic  
guest.  
  
"Bartlet pulled this same stunt," VanDyke muttered.  
  
"That's 'Former President Bartlet,' and, yes, he did." C.J. folded her arms and  
stepped back to the news desk. "I only steal from the best, Reverend. And now,  
if you'll excuse me, I have to prepare for tomorrow's show. Your dresser will  
walk you back to the green room so you can collect your things."  
  
"You haven't heard the last of this!"  
  
C.J. dropped her gaze to the desktop as she set her glasses down with  
exaggerated care. "I can only hope not," she said as VanDyke was led away, still  
waving his arms and talking about retribution.  
  
June came by with C.J.'s purse. "Your cell is going off about every ten  
seconds," she said, handing the bag to her boss.  
  
"Can't imagine why that's happening," C.J. replied as she reached for the  
phone.  
  
***   
Part two   
  



	2. 2 of 5

***   
Washington, D.C.   
Ten minutes later   
***  
  
"Holy shit, C.J." Sam waved his free hand in the air, beckoning Josh to the  
extension in the guest bedroom. "It's all over the place. Joey sent e-mail from  
California. Amy called Josh's cell from Canada. This is huge."  
  
"We got e-mail from Danny Concannon. The Vice-President's trying to deny," Josh  
put in. He sounded gleeful. "How much you want to bet Schiller isn't taking his  
call right now?"  
  
"Won't take that bet, Joshua."  
  
Sam could imagine C.J.'s smile just then. Josh, who was stalking around the  
house with the cordless phone to his ear, was just one big dimple. And when Sam  
looked up and saw his reflection in the glass door of the bookcase, he found  
that he was grinning from ear to ear. "Listen, I know you're going to want to  
talk to Toby. But I wanted you to know that Josh and I are going to get started  
first thing in the morning, and Matt's been alerted, too, so he'll be mobilizing  
as many people as possible."  
  
"Thanks, guys. I owe you."  
  
"For what? You gave us a wheelbarrow full of political capital."  
  
C.J.'s throaty laugh was as warm as sunlight. "You guys did the research. No one  
at the network took me seriously until you got me documents. So, you see, I do  
owe you."  
  
"Nah." Sam remembered how many times C.J. had bailed him out of trouble - real  
and imagined - and he closed his eyes for a moment. "This is our way of saying  
thanks."  
  
"Right," Josh added, sounding a little more speculative. "Anyway, good job, and  
we'll be in touch."  
  
"You'd better. And give Nina a hug for me, would you?"  
  
"Consider it done," Josh said.  
  
"I think she meant me, Josh."  
  
"Ah, yeah, right, Sam, I'm sorry. Night, C.J."  
  
"Good night, guys."  
  
The two men looked at each other, as close to speechless as they'd ever been.  
Sam could only imagine how many things were going through Josh's mind, but he  
knew what was in his own. This could change everything. Politics, religion,  
social justice. Everything would be up for reform, up for the changes that were  
so desperately needed. With just a few words, the world could change - or not.  
Something Toby had said to him during more than one late-night writing session.  
  
It was going to be an interesting year.  
  
Sam went into the kitchen, where Nina was sitting at the table with a mug of tea  
between her hands. "Sorry to interrupt your practicing - we really needed to  
talk to C.J."  
  
"I can imagine," Nina said. Her head was bowed and her tone was listless. Before  
Sam could ask any questions, Josh bounded into the room.  
  
"Oh, man, we are going to hang these idiots out to dry. We could see a huge  
overturn in the midterms, Sam. We could get the House back and keep the Senate  
by a comfortable margin. Not to mention state races."  
  
"Indeed," Sam said, getting back into the swing of Josh's enthusiasm. "Policy  
initiatives - women's issues alone could be--"  
  
Josh interrupted, looking into the middle distance as if he couldn't even hear  
Sam. "It's going to be time to revisit everything. Everything! And all because  
of this list."  
  
Nina whispered something that made Josh freeze in his tracks but that Sam didn't  
hear. "What?"  
  
"I said I've read the books. All of them." She looked up at Josh, her expression  
frozen in a mask of anger. "Am I going to be on someone's list?"  
  
"You've read the books? All of them?" Josh's voice was high.  
  
"Yes. I've read them. I enjoyed them the way I'd enjoy a movie. They're not  
great literature, but they're inventive and entertaining, and they do have a  
message to them."  
  
"Do you agree with what that message?" Josh demanded as he leaned on the table  
and met Nina's gaze.  
  
"I'm a Christian."  
  
"You--"  
  
"Josh, stop it!" Sam interjected.  
  
"Let him finish," Nina said, propping her chin on one hand while stirring her  
tea into a froth with the other. "Let him get it off his chest."  
  
Josh began to sputter half-formed sentences. "Get what...I haven't...you  
honestly expect..."  
  
"Okay, that's enough." Sam put his hand on Josh's arm and moved him away from  
the table. "Nina, no one in this room is saying that people can't read whatever  
the hell they want to read. And no one's putting you on a list. You're not a  
civil servant. You don't design or implement the laws of the land."  
  
"So only civil servants are going to be prohibited from reading certain works of  
fiction?"  
  
"That's not what I mean! I mean that basing one's political views on a work of  
fiction is a pretty slippery slope." Sam paused. "And what is it, exactly, that  
you think Josh is trying to do?"  
  
"He knows," Nina muttered.  
  
"Actually, I don't," Josh replied in a tight voice. "So why don't you enlighten  
me?"  
  
Nina took a sip of tea, then put the mug back on the table. "You and Toby have  
this thing. He does the whole 'I'm a better Jew than you are because I care more  
about such-and-such' routine, and you fall for it every time. Every time, Josh.  
You're like Old Faithful, spouting off on some religious tangent whenever Toby  
does something you perceive as condescending."  
  
Sam thought back on a few things and grimaced.  
  
"So you think I'm only doing this because Toby wrote some essays for the New  
Yorker on the European immigrant waves at the turn of the 20th century?" Josh  
shook off Sam's arm and sat down opposite Nina. "You think I only care that  
these bozos who try to run our country want me gone, or preferably dead and  
gone, because I need to get even with Toby?"  
  
"Possibly," she said. "And I can see the wheels turning, Josh, so don't try to  
tell me that your only interest in the C.A.P. is to ask what you can do for your  
country."  
  
Josh nodded sharply. "And don't try to tell me that your only interest in those  
books is entertainment. You want to get a preview of Toby and and me, roasting  
in Hell."  
  
"Josh, no!" Nina reached out to him but he pulled away. "Not all Christians are  
like that! I'm not!"  
  
Sam pressed his lips together and said nothing. Better to let them hash this out  
between them.  
  
"I read the books, but I didn't drink the Kool Aid," Nina continued. "That said,  
I don't agree with all of the ideology just because I'm exposed to it - I've  
seen 'Star Wars' several times, but I don't believe in the Force."  
  
"You didn't think that the series depicts non-Christians in a derogatory  
fashion? That some people might respond to that with hatred and even violence?"  
  
Nina glared at him. "Can't we trust the average American to read 'End of Days'  
and think it's interesting without suddenly becoming brainwashed by it? I read  
'Huckleberry Finn' but have never used the 'n' word, and I read 'Lady  
Chatterley's Lover' without becoming obsessed with sex. Should we get rid of  
books that aren't politically correct? Is that really what you want - censoring  
books that you find offensive? Josh, you've always been right in front of every  
movement to keep libraries free and open, to keep controversial books available  
in schools. The minute you start banning books will be the moment I tell you to  
leave my house and never set foot in it again."  
  
It was the longest speech Sam had ever heard Nina make. And it was the longest  
time Sam had ever seen Josh stand in stunned silence.  
  
Then he got the biggest surprise of all.  
  
"You're right," Josh said softly. He got up and wandered over to the window for  
a moment, the cool blue moonlight washing over his face. "About all of it. I do  
get juiced up over Toby's 'I'm less Reform than you' attitude, and sometimes I  
get paranoid as a result. And sometimes I do think that Christians all hate  
Jews. But then I remember what you said to Edgar Drummond and I know that I'm  
wrong." Josh had moved behind Nina as he spoke, leaning over and putting his  
arms around her neck. She leaned her cheek against his forearm and smiled.  
  
"You can be such an advocate, Josh. You can stand up for so much that's good and  
noble. But sometimes you're just so full of shit that I can't breathe."  
  
"You want us to call this off?" Sam inquired.  
  
"Not at all." Nina sat up straighter and beckoned Sam to join her at the table.  
"These guys are complete nutcases who need to be removed from public service -  
and I use the word 'service' loosely- as soon as possible."  
  
"So what the hell...?" Josh frowned.  
  
"Checks and balances. Donna used to be your reality check, but she's gone over  
to the Dark Side and now I'm the only average person you know."  
  
"You're hardly what I'd call average," Josh protested. "You're about sixty times  
smarter than most of the people on the Hill."  
  
"Josh, the rag I clean my viola with is...well, you know." She extricated  
herself from his embrace and stood up. "Anyway. I just wanted you to think  
before you lumped the whole of Christianity in with these not-so-shining  
examples. And took my husband with you."  
  
"I think she's saying we need a chaperone," Sam said, chuckling. "So we'll call  
C.J. in the morning and ask her to talk to someone - maybe Al Caldwell - and get  
a more moderate opinion." He looked at Nina, saw the sparkle in her eyes and the  
way she held her head high. Wow. Wow. He completely lost his train of thought.  
  
Josh grinned. "I think you two need the chaperone. Or not. I'm gonna be..." He  
cocked his head toward the front door. "See you tomorrow."  
  
Sam couldn't remember, hours later, if Josh had locked the door on his way out.  
But Nina was in his arms, warm and cozy, and he'd be damned if he was going to  
get up and check.  
  
***   
Washington, D.C.   
February   
***  
  
"Matt, the Reverend Al Caldwell is out here, and he'd like to see you if you  
have a moment."  
  
This was the last person on earth he expected to see in his office, and he knew  
he sounded puzzled as he spoke into the intercom. "Send him in," he said, then  
stood up and straightened his tie.  
  
"Thank you so much for seeing me." Caldwell was older, huskier, and carried  
himself with the stiffness of increasing age. His handshake was as firm as ever,  
and his expression as kindly. "I won't be long."  
  
"Please, Reverend, have a seat." Matt waited until Caldwell was seated, then  
took his place behind the desk. "I'm honored that you came to visit. And, well,  
a little surprised."  
  
"I've been to see Sam Seaborn, and he said I should come talk to you. If that's  
all right."  
  
"It's more than all right. What can I do for you?" He smiled with genuine  
warmth, remembering some of Sam's remarks about Caldwell and some of what  
Caldwell had been doing since C.J.'s interview had aired.  
  
Investigations had piled up on top of investigations, and Toby wrote that the  
R.N.C. was spinning like a drunk dreidl. And, in the middle of everything,  
Reverend Al Caldwell had gone on a series of programs saying that he was shocked  
and saddened by the real nature of the C.A.P. That he'd been wrong to support  
them. That it was the duty of Christians everywhere to throw off the shackles of  
mindless hatred and embrace all people, regardless of what they believed or  
didn't believe.  
  
Caldwell had been able to calm people's fears even as the fabric of America  
politics began to be rewoven. Sam had been particularly hopeful, and that  
optimism always managed to wear off on Matt as well.  
  
"I'll get right to the point, Senator. I spoke with Jed Bartlet last night, at  
great length, about what you and Sam - and Josh - are trying to accomplish. He  
told me that it is not your intent to overthrow the government."  
  
"Well, we sort of are the government," Matt said, "but I do understand your  
concern."  
  
"He also told me that you are a man of high principles, and that he regards you  
as one of the finest minds of your generation."  
  
That was the highest praise Matt could imagine. He had a hard time catching his  
breath. "I appreciate that."  
  
"Don't tell me, tell him," Caldwell said, waving his hand in a direction that  
might or might not have indicated New Hampshire. "I know that you and Sam mean  
well, but a lot of what Sam says gets run through Josh's filters. Sometimes I  
don't think he understands how hurtful some of his speeches are. How divisive.  
Now, I appreciate that you've toned down the rhetoric since C.J.'s...interesting  
interview with John VanDyke. But I'd like to help you do more."  
  
"To do...what, exactly?" Matt asked, folding his hands on the desk and looking  
keenly at Caldwell.  
  
"To mend the fences. To help the adjustment of millions of Christian Americans  
who have always thought, in all honesty and innocence, that their way was the  
only way to run a nation. To find the genuinely good people who've been  
disenfranchised and make them understand that they won't be ostracized for  
expressing what they feel." He paused. "I believe you understand that goal as  
well as anyone in the Senate."  
  
Tauntings, beatings. Torment. The attempted ouster from the Senate, just as  
agonizing a bullying tactic as anything he'd endured as a teenager or a young  
man.  
  
"I don't believe in some of the Democratic Party's platforms. But I do believe  
in you, and in Sam, and - heaven help me - even in Josh. So I'm here to offer my  
support to the bipartisan effort to help heal the wounds that the C.A.P. caused.  
I'm at your service."  
  
Every positive word Sam had ever spoken about Caldwell rang in Matt's brain. "I  
can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate that. And how much it means that  
you came to me. After all, I'm pretty...different."  
  
"Well, son," Caldwell said as he rose to take his leave. "some of my best  
friends are..."  
  
Matt stared at him. Surely he's not going to say...  
  
"...Methodist."  
  
Any meeting that ended with laughter, Matt reflected as he walked Caldwell to  
the elevator, was surely the beginning of something extraordinary.  
  
***   
Part three   
  



	3. 3 of 5

***   
March   
***  
  
It had been a hell of a day. Meeting after meeting, with a few meetings to break  
the monotony, and Sam giving a speech about a health care initiative that blew  
the doors off the Capitol, and then some more meetings. It was all wonderful,  
when he stopped to think about it, because the spirit of bipartisanship and  
reform was high. The C.A.P. members were about to lose their seats in Congress,  
big-time, and rumor had it that Schiller was going to dump the Vice-President in  
the 2010 elections. Support of Israel was tempered with provisos about rights  
for all its citizens. Everyone was shutting up about Moral Majority anything and  
concentrating on the true reasons behind social ills. And right there, right  
there in the middle of anything, was the man everyone was turning to as the  
natural leader. Sam Seaborn.  
  
But in spite of the many blessings of the day, Josh had left earlier than normal  
- when it was still daylight - and gone home, because Amy had said over  
breakfast that she needed to talk to him about something that affected them  
both.  
  
He was pretty sure that she was going to have a baby. Made sense - the recent  
moodiness, the furtive phone calls, the weird reverse-nesting instinct that had  
her bringing more and more of her personal items to her office. Oh, he was so  
the man. Not that Amy wasn't the woman, but...  
  
Josh lounged on the sofa, arms spread along the back, and put his feet on the  
coffee table. "Let me have it."  
  
Amy sat in the leather chair across from him. Her dark eyes flashed. "Naima's  
husband has figured out where they are. He's trying to file charges of  
kidnapping against her, and we're not sure where the Canadian government's going  
to go with it even when we tell them what's really going on. Naima's going to  
have to get out of the house pretty fast, and she needs help moving and finding  
a new place."  
  
"Oh, God, Amy, that's horrible. I'm so sorry." Josh leaned forward, reaching for  
Amy's hands and clasping them between his. "Sam's got some law school buddies at  
State - I can make some calls tonight."  
  
"Thanks," Amy whispered. "I appreciate that...more than I can tell you." Josh  
saw tears in her eyes, and her face was deathly pale. "I'm going up there--"  
  
"Yeah, that's what I figured, with all the suitcases." Something unpleasant  
began to tickle the back of his brain, and he let go of Amy's hands so he could  
gesture toward the brown leather bags. "That's a...lot of suitcases. How long  
are you going to be gone?"  
  
Amy blinked back her tears, and something in the way she looked at Josh left him  
breathless. In a bad way. He heard something about not coming back. About Naima.  
About Angela. But that wasn't possible.  
  
He hadn't heard her correctly.  
  
Yes, that's it, Josh thought as he continued to stare at Amy with his mouth  
open. No way did I hear what I think I just heard. No chance that Amy just said  
she was leaving to live on the run in Canada with Naima and Angela. Leaving me  
forever.  
  
"Josh?" Amy asked, standing up and walking behind the sofa to hold on to his  
shoulders. "Are you going to be okay?"  
  
He shook his head, trying to clear it of the hundreds of noises racketing around  
in his brain. "This morning, when you said you needed to talk...I thought..." He  
was grateful that she couldn't see his face, and his chest was so tight that he  
could hardly breathe. "I thought you might be pregnant. I wasn't...I really  
didn't...expect..."  
  
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."  
  
Josh nodded. "How long has this been going on?" God, what a cliché.  
  
"Since last January."  
  
"January? We'd only been married--"  
  
"I know!" Her hands tightened on his shoulders. It hurt. It felt good. "I'm  
sorry, Josh, I tried not to act on it. I'd meant to tell you, but then Leo died,  
and I...I couldn't do that to you."  
  
Josh rubbed his forehead with one hand. "The night Leo died, you said you wanted  
to tell me something. You said it could keep. This was it, wasn't it?"  
  
He felt Amy rest her cheek on his head, felt her nodding in silence.  
  
"Okay." Josh shifted his weight forward and shrugged away Amy's soothing hands.  
Sat far enough forward that he wouldn't feel her warm breath, or the tears that  
slipped from her face into his hair. "You got a lawyer?"  
  
"Everyone I know is a lawyer, Josh. I've filed papers. All you have to do is  
sign. I don't want anything." She paused. "I don't deserve anything."  
  
Josh wanted to agree with her, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. "How  
will you get by? You won't be able to work - they're not going to give you a  
visa, and, even if they did, you'll be on the run."  
  
"We have...ways. We don't need much. I've been saving."  
  
He turned around, kneeling on the sofa, and cupped Amy's face in his hands. The  
tears in his eyes blurred her edges, making her look so soft. "Will you be  
safe?"  
  
"I can't believe you're asking that," she whispered, sounding close to tears  
herself. "I just said I'm leaving you, and you're not hoping I'll get shot by a  
jealous husband?"  
  
"Ask me again tomorrow," he quipped. Old habit. Jokes to cover up the agony.  
  
Amy had to know that about him. She leaned over, pressing her forehead against  
his. "I really do love you, Josh."  
  
He could barely force out the words. "I...know that." He grabbed hold of her,  
pulling her close for a kiss, feeling her soft mouth open for just a second  
before she broke contact.  
  
Josh licked his lips. Tasted her. They'd made love last night and the image of  
Amy astride him, her wild hair clinging to her face and neck as she moaned in  
pleasure, went through him like a jolt of electricity. "Was it a pity fuck?" he  
asked, knowing she was probably remembering the same thing.  
  
"Josh. No. Never." She looked surprised - although how she'd be surprised by  
this train of thought seemed inconceivable.  
  
He nodded. "Okay. Okay." Clearing his throat, he got up on shaky legs and stood  
next to her. They both leaned against the back of the sofa, looking at the door.  
"When will you be leaving?"  
  
"As soon as Sam gets here."  
  
"You told Sam?"  
  
Josh's indignant cry made Amy shudder. "I just asked him to come over tonight. I  
didn't want to leave you and have you be all alone."  
  
God. God. "Amy, do you think I'm going to hurt myself?"  
  
She sighed. "The thought had crossed my mind. There's...history."  
  
Sirens. There had been sirens everywhere, and the smell of gunpowder, and the  
lancing pain. He squinted, then yanked himself away from her. "Don't flatter  
yourself."  
  
And because Sam's timing had always been just this side of eerie, the intercom  
buzzed. Amy punched the button and moments later Sam was inside the apartment.  
His expression went from bemusement to disbelief as he looked from Josh to Amy  
to the suitcases. "You're leaving," he said in what Josh thought of as his  
"lawyer's summation" voice.  
  
"I'm going to Canada. To be with Naima." She sounded defiant and sad at the same  
time, something Josh wasn't used to hearing. But that was about to stop  
mattering.  
  
"By 'be with,' you mean..." Sam clasped his hands together. "Be with. Oh. I, uh,  
see." He took a few steps closer to Josh, aligning himself with him.  
  
"Sam, I'm sorry to put you in the middle of this. I just...I held on for so  
long, hoping Josh would get over Leo, hoping there'd be a time that's not a  
crisis..."  
  
"You don't 'get over' Leo," Josh whispered.  
  
"That's not what I mean!" Amy's frustration manifested itself in fists balled up  
on her hips and the creases in her forehead. "I tried, Josh, I tried to help  
you--"  
  
It was Sam who cut her off, not Josh, and his tone was dangerously neutral. "I  
can't fault you for wanting to live your life the way you think is best, Amy.  
But you have to understand that my first and only concern is for Josh."  
  
She nodded, slowly, and reached for her duffel bag, slinging it over her  
shoulder while reaching for the two larger suitcases. Armed now, untouchable,  
she looked up at Josh with such tenderness that he thought, for an instant, that  
she might be reconsidering.  
  
"I'm so sorry," she said as she turned toward the door and walked away.  
  
He was wrong.  
  
Sam closed the door and quickly returned to Josh's side. "I don't think she'll  
stay away," he offered, but Josh shook his head.  
  
"No. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that Amy Gardner's mind, once made  
up, is unassailable." He swallowed hard at the sight of Sam's compassionate  
expression. "I thought she was trying to tell me that we'd gotten pregnant. What  
a joke."  
  
"I'm sorry," Sam said. "Do you need a lawyer?"  
  
"I'm a damn lawyer," Josh cried, pointing with both hands at his own chest. "Why  
don't people remember that?"  
  
"Because, on most days, you don't remember that. Seriously. I can have someone  
get in touch with you tomorrow. Has Amy filed?"  
  
Josh shrugged. "She said she'd gotten papers. That she doesn't want anything."  
  
"Mmm." Sam stood beside Josh, their shoulders touching just a little. "So. What  
do we do now?"  
  
"I think your job is to keep me from killing myself." Sam made a horrified  
choking noise, so Josh forced a smile. "Kidding. Kidding."  
  
"That's completely unfunny."  
  
"I know."  
  
There was silence again. Josh turned to Sam. "I'm hungry."  
  
"God, I was hoping you'd say that." Sam's face lit up. Josh couldn't tell  
whether Sam actually felt hungry or was just relieved that Josh was.  
Nonetheless, Josh grinned as he tossed Sam the phone. "What do you want?"  
  
"Anything that goes with beer. And, you know, actual beer."  
  
"Do you have any actual beer?"  
  
Josh walked into the kitchen - noticing that Amy had left dishes in the sink -  
and opened the refrigerator. "Not as such, no. I mean, there's one bottle, and  
that's mine, so you're going to need some. And I'll need more later."  
  
"So, reinforcements are in order." Sam pulled out his cell phone.  
  
"Who are you calling?" Josh asked, slumping into a chair in the kitchen and  
looking glumly at the coffee cups that had been a wedding gift. He wondered if  
he'd have to give them back.  
  
"Matt."  
  
"Sam! No, it's bad enough that you're here - I don't need a damn slumber party!"  
  
"I doubt that any of us will be sleeping tonight...no, Matt, I wasn't talking to  
you. I'm at Josh's, and, well, there's a thing. So can you bring beer?"  
  
"This is not happening," Josh moaned as he opened the one lonely bottle of  
Heineken.  
  
"Yeah, and as much really obnoxious food as you can lay your hands on. A burnt  
offering of meat would probably do for Josh."  
  
Sam's voice dropped low enough for Josh to lose the exact words, but he knew Sam  
was telling Matt that Amy was gone.  
  
Oh. Amy's gone. Oh.  
  
His stomach knotted up and for one horrible moment he thought he was going to  
vomit. Or cry. Josh couldn't decide which would be worse. He remained at the  
table while Sam busied himself with plates and glasses, filling the void with  
news about the A.S.O.'s recording contract and problems with residuals for the  
players while Josh drank the beer.  
  
"You don't have to entertain me, Sam," Josh said. He sounded...hollow. Which was  
no surprise. He twisted his wedding band around his finger and fought back  
tears. "C.J. called me an idiot, that day."  
  
"I think we all did," Sam said evenly.  
  
"Yeah, but you didn't do it to me in the White House. Which sucked. And then  
Toby told me I was an idiot, and Leo, and the next morning Abbey called me...all  
sorts of things. But you know what, Sam? I was really happy. I was."  
  
"I know that."  
  
"Except for the thing with Donna. That wasn't so wonderful. And that happened in  
the White House, too. You know what?" Josh folded his arms on the table and  
rested his head on them. "I think I should avoid the White House at all costs.  
That place is dangerous."  
  
"I don't think it's the White House that got you into trouble, there."  
  
Josh took a sip of beer. "Don't stop me. I'm on a roll."  
  
All of a sudden he froze. The bed. He'd have to sleep in the bed. Their bed. The  
one they'd had sex in less than two days before.  
  
"Got any clean sheets?" Sam asked, and Josh turned to him with his mouth agape.  
  
"How do you do that? Read my mind?"  
  
"Because it's transparent." Sam knocked on Josh's forehead, then leaned over and  
threw his arms around him. "I'm sorry," he said again.  
  
"Sam." Josh disentangled himself, trying to hide the rise in emotions behind a  
smirking facade. "Did you have an affair with Amy?"  
  
"Josh!" Sam's eyes were enormous.  
  
"Did you ask her to leave me? Did you draw up the divorce papers?" Josh gave Sam  
a smile. "Then you have nothing to be sorry for."  
  
After a few seconds, Sam seemed to digest what Josh was really saying to him,  
and he smiled ruefully. "I see Matt's car. I'm gonna go help him with the  
stuff."  
  
Josh took the last few moments of solitude to pull himself together as much as  
possible. Amy's gone. She's gone. Okay. I can do this.  
  
I've had worse things happen to me.  
  
And how depressing is that?  
  
Matt came through the door first, carrying takeout bags that did nothing to mask  
the delicious, forbidden scents within. "All the fried food that I could muster  
up on such short notice. And Sam's got the beer." He looked at Josh kindly but  
not pityingly. "I'm sorry," he began, but Sam cut him off as he entered.  
  
"Don't apologize or Josh will start accusing you of, you know, some pretty weird  
things." They passed out food and put the extra beer in the refrigerators after  
opening bottles for themselves. "What are we drinking to?"  
  
Josh just stared at him, but Matt smiled and clinked his bottle to Sam's.  
"Beards."  
  
"That is...not funny," Josh sputtered, even though he started to laugh. He  
joined in the toast. "You are sick people. My wife just left me for a woman, and  
you decide to mock me?"  
  
"That's nothing. Wait until you tell your mother," Sam said, picking up some  
french fries and dipping them into a glob of ketchup.  
  
"Oh, God. My mother. This is gonna suck so completely and thoroughly." Then a  
horrible thought struck him and he blanched. "Forget my mother - what about  
Donna?"  
  
"What about Donna?" Sam asked, still munching on french fries as he took another  
drink.  
  
"She's gonna mock me until, I don't know, forever." His shoulders slumped and he  
pushed his hamburger to one side. "She's gonna laugh."  
  
Matt set his sandwich down on the plate and looked down at it with unusual  
interest. "She didn't laugh."  
  
"That's good," Sam said, then paused with his hamburger halfway to his mouth.  
"I'm sorry, you just said she 'didn't' laugh."  
  
"As in you already told her?" Josh demanded.  
  
"She was sitting right next to me in the office when I got the call. I was  
supposed to stay late and work on the Hayley stuff, but...well, I had to tell  
her something, and the truth is always the easiest thing to remember."  
  
Josh was slightly mollified. And hungry. He bit into the charcoal-edged  
hamburger with a sigh. Donna hadn't laughed. That was something.  
  
"If it makes you feel any better, Josh, I had a guy dump me for a woman, once."  
  
"That sentence," Sam declared, "sounds so bizarre."  
  
"It doesn't make me feel better. Besides," Josh said as he removed the offending  
tomatoes, lettuce, pickles, and all other vegetation, from his dinner, "I don't  
think this will go on forever. She'll come back."  
  
Sam and Matt exchanged worried looks. Matt shook his head. "Josh, look, if she'd  
been planning this for a year..."  
  
"Give me another beer," Josh demanded sourly. Matt handed him another bottle,  
which Josh opened but then set aside. "I've had women leave me before."  
  
Sam made a noise that sounded like a snort, then opened his eyes wide and spread  
out his arms.  
  
"I've had women leave me before," Josh repeated. "And the good ones, I've been  
able to win back."  
  
"With your charm and boyish self-deprecation?" Matt asked.  
  
"Something like that. And please don't mock the afflicted." He was actually  
enjoying this, in a sick kind of way. Sam and Matt, on his side. "But this thing  
with Amy - what she wants, I'm literally not equipped to give her. It's not  
exactly a fair fight."  
  
"And thank you for making my point." Matt took the pickles off of Josh's plate  
and ate one of them. "I hate to tell you this, Josh, but when it's about the  
equipment, it's never a fair fight."  
  
"There's nothin' wrong with my equipment," Josh mumbled.  
  
"I wouldn't know," Matt replied primly, and as a result he found himself wearing  
a piece of lettuce on his shirt.  
  
They finished their meals quickly and took the beer out onto the stoop. Josh  
plopped down, bone-weary, on the top step, with Matt and Sam flanking him. "So  
what will you do now?" Sam asked.  
  
"Right now? I don't know. It's too late to buy a bed," Josh said glumly. "I am  
never sleeping in that bed again."  
  
"Neither is Amy," Sam put in, not at all helpfully, for which Josh punched him  
in the arm. Sam laughed. His lips were just above the bottle, and it whistled  
darkly. "Okay, we'll have someone go bed-shopping with you tomorrow. Then what?"  
  
"Lawyer. Calling my mom - unless you'd like to do that for me, Matt?"  
  
"God, no. Not that I don't think your mom's great. I get a kick out of talking  
to her when she comes up to visit, and there's nothing in the world as great as  
her noodle kugel. But now she's always looking for a nice Jewish doctor for me.  
I think she's more worried about my being Methodist than being gay."  
  
Josh thought that his mother was about the coolest little old Jewish lady in the  
world.  
  
"Seriously. Josh." Sam looked at him with concern radiating from his whole body.  
"What can we do?"  
  
"I have...no idea. No one's ever divorced me before. I know that's hard to  
believe. So, apart from the lawyer and the bed, I don't really know what to do.  
Give me some more work to do, maybe."  
  
"Because it takes your mind off Amy, or because you won't want to go home?"  
  
He didn't know the answer to Matt's question, so he just shrugged. "What  
difference does it make, if it's successful?"  
  
"What difference will you make," Sam asked gently, "if it doesn't mean anything  
to you?"  
  
"What makes you think it doesn't?" Josh had worked endless hours after the "End  
of Days" interview, getting the people who privately agreed with C.J. to go  
public, making sure no stone was unturned in bringing important, thoughtful  
people into the group that was struggling to turn America from a secret  
theocracy into a true democracy.  
  
"Josh, I just don't want you to throw yourself into this to the extent that you  
wear yourself down. You're no spring chicken anymore." Sam paused. "I need you  
too much to let you make yourself sick over something you can't control."  
  
There. That was it. No control. He hadn't felt this dizzying a sense of freefall  
in years. Josh sucked in a breath and nodded.  
  
So this is it, he thought as Matt helped him to his feet and watched, arms  
folded, as Josh made a nest for himself on the sofa. Amy is gone and I'm still  
here, and they're still here, and somehow it'll be better in the morning.  
  
"The pain gets better," Sam reminded him, prescient as always.  
  
"I know that," Josh mumbled into the pillow. He let his breathing deepen,  
waiting until he heard two pairs of footsteps and the click of his front door.  
Then he turned over on his back, his arm thrown over his eyes, and let the tears  
fall at last.  
  
***   
Part four   
  
  



	4. 4 of 5

***   
New York City   
April   
***  
  
C.J. paced the square of her kitchen as far as the phone cord would let her.  
Refrigerator, sink, stove, dishwasher. Tiny table. Dumbwaiter. Cabinets. "Yes, I  
can do the pre-interview stuff in D.C. tomorrow if Matt can't get up to New  
York. That's no problem. Just as long as I'm done by noon, because I'm flying to  
San Francisco tomorrow night and I'll be there for about three weeks."  
  
"Thanks." Josh sounded absent-minded. C.J. could almost picture him standing in  
his darkened apartment, frowning at nothing the way he did when something was  
incredibly wrong and he was trying to tamp down the anxiety.  
  
"Are we going to talk some more, or are you just going to, you know, breathe at  
me?" C.J. asked, trying to keep the tone playful. "Because if you're just going  
to breathe at me, then I'm planning to make a tape of it and play it at meetings  
when I get bored."  
  
"I'm sorry." Josh was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. "I signed  
today."  
  
"Signed...?"  
  
"The divorce papers. It's done."  
  
Shit. Someone should've told her. She hated being this far out of the loop. "I'm  
sorry. I wish I could say something to make it better."  
  
He sighed. "It was sent to the office. Sam read it, and he said to sign it. I  
used this pen...and after, I couldn't keep it. I threw it away. I think someone  
important gave me that pen..."  
  
"Josh," C.J. said soothingly, wishing she could reach the wine rack.  
  
"She kept going back to Canada. How did I not see it coming? How did no one see  
it coming?"  
  
It was time to come clean. She'd had this eating away at her for more than a  
year, like acid on the soul. "I saw it coming," she said. Josh didn't answer.  
"I...actually, I knew it was coming."  
  
"How?" he asked, exhaling.  
  
She closed her eyes tightly and tried not to remember how much she'd wanted to  
throw Amy out the nearest plate glass window. "She told me," C.J. admitted.  
  
"She told Sam, too. I mean, right before."  
  
"She told me earlier than that. That's what I'm trying to tell you. She told me  
- well, it was over a year ago."  
  
Silence.  
  
"She'd called me about doing an interview with some people from Amnesty  
International on Angela's behalf. And somewhere in there, she let it slip."  
  
"You didn't tell me?" Incredulous. Angry.  
  
"She said she was going to tell you that night, or the next day."  
  
"She didn't!" Josh exclaimed.  
  
"I know that! But the day after she and I talked, Leo died. And Amy - and you  
have to give her credit for this, Josh - didn't think it was a good time, so she  
stayed with you."  
  
"Yeah, she did me a big favor."  
  
"Josh, listen--"  
  
"And in the next twelve months, did you ever pick up the phone and say, 'By the  
way, Josh, there's a little problem with Amy that you might want to know about,'  
or anything that would clue me in that my whole damn life was about to  
collapse?"  
  
C.J. groaned. "It wasn't my story to tell."  
  
Bad choice.  
  
"So of all the other stories that aren't yours, the ones that net you a couple  
million dollars a year because you tell them on NBC, this was the one you  
decided to store away? Knowing that someday I'd have to sit in my apartment and  
have Amy tell me that she loved someone else, that she was packed, that this was  
it?"  
  
"I promised--"  
  
"You promised? That's nothing! She promised! SHE promised!" Josh was screaming  
now, and C.J. could hear the pounding of his fist on the wall. "She promised to  
love me forever, and look how much good that promise did!"  
  
"I understand, and I know why you're angry at me, and I don't blame you."  
  
"You know what?" Josh asked, breathless. "I don't care about your understanding  
and I don't give a damn about who you choose to blame."  
  
Now it was C.J.'s turn to lose her breath, and she had to force air into her  
lungs. "If it was the wrong thing to do, then I'm sorry--"  
  
Josh's words, softly spoken as they were, tore through her like broken glass.  
"Fuck you, C.J."  
  
And the phone went dead.  
  
"Oh, my God," C.J. gasped. She hit Josh's number on the speed dial. Got his  
voice mail. "Josh, please...pick up, please," but to no avail. With fingers  
shaking so hard that she could scarcely touch another key, she called Toby. No  
answer. That's right, Ellie was in Manchester with her husband and new baby, and  
they were going out for dinner. She tried Josh again, only this time she  
listened to a pleasantly modulated mechanical voice saying the phone was  
temporarily out of service.  
  
No, no, no.  
  
She fumbled with the phone, crying, nearly unable to feel the buttons. Finally  
she heard Nina's voice, thick with sleep. "C.J.? is that you?"  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I need to talk to Sam. Please."  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
"I'm fine. It's...it's Josh."  
  
C.J. heard Nina whisper something, then seconds later Sam was on the line.  
"What's going on?"  
  
"I need you to go to Josh's and make sure he's all right. The divorce papers  
came, and he's--"  
  
"C.J., he was over here for dinner. He's a little down, but he's fine."  
  
"Well, he wasn't fine by the time I got through talking to him." She didn't wait  
for Sam's request for clarification. "I told him something. That I'd known about  
Amy. Last year, in fact, just before Leo died."  
  
"You knew and you didn't tell him anything?"  
  
She flinched. "I went over this with Josh already. You can beat the shit out of  
me tomorrow. What you need to do now is get to Josh's place soon as possible.  
He's done something with the phone and I can't get through, and we fought. Sam,  
I've only heard him like this once before."  
  
"I'm on my way," Sam said in a frightened whisper. He hung up, and C.J. began to  
pace around the kitchen again.  
  
Don't hover, Donna had said after that wretched Christmas. It embarrasses him.  
  
Dammit, where the hell was Donna?  
  
No, not her fault. Donna had done the right thing, withdrawing to a discreet  
distance after Amy's departure.  
  
C.J. wondered if she could have her research department track Amy down and  
throttle her. No, not her fault, either. She'd suffered enough, was still  
suffering, on the lam with a woman whose husband wanted to mutilate their  
daughter. And Amy certainly didn't mean to bring this on Josh; that's why she  
had stayed so much longer than she'd intended, to keep him from having exactly  
this breakdown.  
  
Her legs began to tremble as she looked over at the clock. What if Josh had hurt  
himself? What if he was lying on the floor, blood coming from God knows where?  
He didn't have a gun, did he? Pills? No, that's not Josh's style, he wouldn't  
just dope himself into oblivion. He'd do something spectacular. Like running his  
hand through a window.  
  
C.J. sat in the little chair by the breakfast table. Stop, stop, stop. Don't  
borrow trouble. It's okay, Sam's on the way. Sam's on the way.  
  
So intent was she on this new mantra that the phone made her jump up, hand over  
her heart. She grabbed the receiver. "Sam?"  
  
"Yeah. Josh is okay. I can't talk now."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Tore the phone out of the wall and threw it out the window. C.J., look, I  
can't--"  
  
And then she heard it. The terrible, hopeless sound of Josh's broken sobbing.  
  
"Is he hurt?" Stupid question. "I mean--"  
  
"He didn't do anything. Not to himself. I got here in time."  
  
"Sam!"  
  
"It's going to be okay, C.J. I'll take him home with me and tomorrow we'll think  
of something."  
  
"I'll call Toby again. Have Abbey bring Josh out to the farm."  
  
"That's a good idea." Sam finally didn't sound angry anymore, just tired and  
apprehensive. "I've got to go now."  
  
C.J. swallowed and nodded, neither of which would help Sam understand that she  
was saying good night, and thank you, and please take care of Josh and tell him  
I'm sorry. But as she hung up the phone, her shoulders shaking, she knew that  
Sam was doing all of those things, and more, because that's who Sam was.  
  
***   
Manchester   
The next afternoon   
***  
  
Toby met Josh at the gate. Shook his hand, because they weren't the sort to  
embrace, ever, even when something horrible was going on. "Josh, it's good to  
have you here, although I'm certainly sorry about the circumstances. Jed's been  
anxious to see you."  
  
"You call him 'Jed' now?" Josh asked, and the lift of his eyebrow reassured Toby  
that Josh Lyman's spirit was still in his body, after all.  
  
"It took a while," Toby admitted. "But every time I called him 'sir' he gave me  
a lecture. At first it was on literary allusion in Pre-Raphaelite paintings. But  
when he started in on the smallest monetary units of Pacific Island nations, I  
gave it up."  
  
"I hear you." Josh paid the cab driver and shouldered his backpack while Toby  
grabbed his suitcase and headed away from the house. "Wait, aren't we going  
inside?"  
  
"They converted the old carriage house into a guest house, with a guest room  
inside to make it utterly redundant."  
  
"Yeah," Josh smirked. "I heard something about them throwing you out because of  
the noise."  
  
Toby stopped in his tracks, scratching his eyebrow with his thumbnail. "Who told  
you?"  
  
"Sam. He got it from Donna, who got it from, of all people, Gary Tennenberg."  
  
"The cab hasn't driven away yet, has it?" Toby asked hopefully.  
  
"Seriously. I'm sorry about the...thing. With C.J." Josh nudged Toby's arm as  
they walked down a gravel path to the guest house. "I should call her. I said  
some pretty crappy stuff."  
  
"I don't blame you, Josh. I was pretty pissed, myself." Toby had exchanged more  
than a few words, some quite heated, with C.J. over the propriety of letting  
Josh continue to believe that his wife was actually in love with him. Only  
because C.J. was so distraught did Toby end the lecture and suggest that Abbey  
call Josh early the following morning. "We're having dinner with the Bartlets -  
they went to the airport with Ellie, Tom, and whatshisname, but they'll be back  
in a few hours."  
  
"'Whatshisname?' The...baby?" Josh asked.  
  
"Yeah." Toby turned away so Josh couldn't scrutinize his face. He couldn't help  
thinking it was a pretty damn cute baby, especially when Toby could hand it back  
to its parents when cute turned into messy. "Micah."  
  
"They named their baby Micah? Seriously? Because, when people bring presents,  
they can say this is for Micah. Formica."  
  
Toby glared at Josh, who was smirking. Again. No wonder Amy had walked out. No  
one should have to live with that smirk. "Anyway," he said, helping Josh put his  
things away in the guest room, "We're having dinner, and then I'm helping with  
the memoirs over chess and brandy."  
  
"What will I be doing?" Josh asked, both eyebrows now raised.  
  
"Abbey would like to have a talk with you."  
  
Josh bolted toward the window. "The cab hasn't driven away yet, has it?"  
  
Toby watched the slump of Josh's shoulders as he placed his palms on the  
windowsill. C.J. has sounded nothing short of hysterical when she'd called  
during the night, painting Josh as a desperate man on the edge of suicide. Sam  
had been more pragmatic - concerned but not frightened. "But I think a few days  
away might be good for him," Sam had declared.  
  
So tickets had been reserved and Josh had been summoned in a way that made it  
clear that he had no choice in the matter. Sam told Toby that Josh seemed to  
agree with the plan, that he had packed quietly and without argument, and let  
Sam drive him to the Amtrak station.  
  
And now he was here, and Toby had very little idea what to do for him. What to  
say to him.  
  
Yes, Andrea had divorced him. But that was over personalities, over work habits,  
over religion. She hadn't left him because of his gender. And of all the people  
in the world who were unlikely to take that kind of dismissal well, he couldn't  
imagine anyone being more freaked out than Josh.  
  
It would've been easier for Toby to deal with the angry Josh who had terrified  
C.J. so much. Certainly easier to deal with the self-destructive version who'd  
spent the night haunting Sam and Nina's condo. What left him feeling helpless  
was how passive Josh was. Too quiet. And if not for the flashes of humor that  
broke the sullen pallor of Josh's face, Toby would have been terrified. He knew,  
all too well, that the people who were least vocal were the most likely to die  
at their own hands.  
  
He hadn't said that to the relieved C.J., nor to Sam. Instead, he'd called Donna  
and asked her to revisit the Ghost of Christmas Past. What did you see? What  
made you go to Leo? What did he do between stitching up his hand and coming in  
on the 26th?  
  
Would you recognize if it were happening again?  
  
Donna had recited the facts in a dull monotone, had given Toby a concise  
run-down on PTSD symptoms and the phone number of Stanley Keyworth, just in  
case. But beneath the professional surface Toby could sense her anguish. Her  
helplessness. Just as he'd felt when he watched Josh relive the shooting while  
Yo-Yo Ma played. Sonata for Unaccompanied Trauma.  
  
Toby cleared his throat and walked over to Josh, putting a hand on his shoulder  
- the most contact they'd had in years. "Josh, I can't...begin to imagine what  
you're going through right now. But if you need--"  
  
"It's okay." Josh didn't turn, didn't acknowledge the pressure of Toby's hand,  
just kept looking out the window. "It's like I told Sam last night. I've had  
worse things happen to me."  
  
I need...I need a doctor! I need help!  
  
"I know," Toby whispered, watching the here-and-now Josh, not the one whose  
pleading, terrified eyes haunted his dreams still, all these years later. "I was  
there."  
  
"Some days I don't know how I feel about that." Josh finally turned around. He  
was pale, with dark circles under bloodshot eyes. "Some days I don't know  
whether to thank God you found me or whether to kick your ass for not letting me  
die right then and there."  
  
"I had the same feelings on more than one occasion. Especially when you  
disagreed with me when I was, as always, right."  
  
They shared a rueful laugh, and Josh's expression brightened a little. "I'm  
supposed to be getting fresh air, and it looks like you're dying for a cigar.  
Why don't we split the difference and take a walk while you smoke?"  
  
"I think you'd better consider a shower and a change of clothes - dinner's going  
to be a little early tonight. Usually we just wear whatever, but tonight's a  
slightly bigger...thing than normal."  
  
"Okay." Josh dug around in his luggage for a suit, which he put on a hanger. It  
had been neatly packed - probably by Nina - and didn't seem the worse for its  
travels. "Listen, before the shower and stuff, I should probably take a nap. I,  
uh, didn't get a lot of sleep last night."  
  
No kidding. Neither did the rest of us, as we plotted out your next week while  
you weren't paying attention.  
  
"That's good. I'm just going to read for a while. I'll be out there. Just a few  
steps. At my desk."  
  
"Toby." Josh managed a smile, a small one, that almost reached his eyes.  
"Nothing's going to happen. I promise."  
  
Toby nodded. "Good, then," was all he said, but he was less anxious. He was even  
able to concentrate when he went over to his desk and took out a loose-leaf  
notebook.  
  
As they got ready to go to the main house, though, the anxiety began to  
resurface. This time it had a different face on it.  
  
"I should tell you something about dinner," Toby mumbled, talking almost  
directly into his beard.  
  
Josh, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, tying his shoes, looked up at him.  
"Please tell me that we don't have even more people here tonight."  
  
"No, it's just the four of us. But before we knew you were coming - before we  
knew about Amy - we'd planned something. I wanted to let it go, but you know  
Abbey when she gets her teeth into an event." He sighed again. "It's a birthday  
party."  
  
"For...whom?"  
  
"For me." Spit it out, Toby. "I'm fifty."  
  
"Ah." Josh mouthed the number a few times. "It's gonna happen to all of us."  
  
"Yes, but to me, first. I'm the Lewis and Clark of old age."  
  
Josh frowned, looking down at the floor as he spoke. "I'm sorry I'm putting a  
wet blanket on your festivities. Babysitting me is probably the last thing you  
want to do tonight, huh?"  
  
"It's better than listening to the history of the camera obscura," Toby replied,  
hoping his non-answer would do. "Besides, C.J. had to leave for San Francisco,  
and I'd have just been here, all alone, no one to drink with." He indicated his  
desk, barely visible from the guest bedroom. "Glenlivet. One bottle from Nina,  
and one from Donna."  
  
"Wow. You'd be willing to share?"  
  
"Depends."  
  
"On...what?"  
  
He flashed a brief smile at Josh. "On how well you take your medicine tonight.  
Be a good boy, promise to apologize to C.J., promise to keep in touch better  
than you've been doing, and all this could be yours, my son."  
  
"Shut up," Josh whimpered, but he was laughing, and by the time Bartlet welcomed  
them into the house they were in a surprisingly cheerful frame of mind.  
  
"Joshua," Abbey said as she rushed up to him and stood on tiptoe, putting her  
arms around his neck and kissing him on both cheeks. "Thanks for coming."  
  
"You didn't leave him any choice," Bartlet said with a smile. "And don't think  
for a minute that I don't see you taking his pulse while pretending to hold his  
hand."  
  
"Ignore him," Abbey said breezily. "God knows I do. Now, let me see about  
feeding you before you keel over. Have you eaten at all in the last day? No,  
don't answer that - I'll just be horrified by your diet and jealous that you're  
still so damn skinny."  
  
"I'm fine, ma'am," he replied stoically.  
  
"Not ma'am, please, not that. We've been over this and over this and over this.  
Donna still practically curtsies when she sees me. I'm done with the  
intimidating part of my life." With easy grace she put her arm through his and  
led him to the dining room.  
  
Toby, who followed behind with Bartlet, dreaded the decorations that might be  
greeting him. To his surprise, the table was unchanged from the other times he'd  
eaten there, other than the extra place set for Josh. Oh, thank God, he wasn't  
going to be humiliated.  
  
Far from it - he was ignored as much as anything else. Abbey was particularly  
attentive to Josh, asking questions about everything but Amy. Bartlet had  
specific inquiries into pending legislation and the possible aftereffects of  
C.J.'s "revelation." The only concession to the day, apart from the more formal  
dinner, came when Henry came out with a Black Forest cake lit by a single  
candle.  
  
Afterwards, fortified with cake and brandy, they went into the den. Toby  
performed his nightly task of reading pages of Bartlet's manuscript in between  
chess moves. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Abbey sit down with Josh  
on the couch, trying without success to hear what they were saying.  
  
Josh's expression was downcast, and once in a while he stopped to rub his eyes.  
  
Bartlet intercepted Toby's glance. "Forget trying to eavesdrop. My wife has an  
uncanny knack for being inaudible when stealth is called for. Something that  
others might benefit from studying."  
  
"I'm never going to hear the end of that, am I?"  
  
"No, no, no." Bartlet moved one of the black pawns exactly where Toby had  
thought he would. "Thanks for taking Josh in. It's less obvious than if we had  
him here at the house."  
  
"Josh is a pretty smart guy," Toby said, taking Bartlet's unprotected knight  
with his bishop. "I think he may suspect our motives."  
  
Chuckling, Bartlet captured Toby's knight and waved it in his face. "You're  
slowing down a bit, old man."  
  
"Simply becoming more devious in my old age." Abbey was holding Josh's hand and  
murmuring something to him that made him smile, flashing his dimples at her.  
Good. Toby moved his queen. Better. "That's checkmate, sir."  
  
Bartlet studied the board over the rims of his glasses. "First-rate, there,  
Toby. I hope you enjoyed your birthday present from me."  
  
Dammit.  
  
"Don't lie to him, Jed," Abbey scolded. "We do have a present for you. Josh,  
would you mind reaching up on that shelf and getting--yes, that's the one. Thank  
you." She came over to Toby and handed the box to him. "We can't even begin to  
thank you for everything you're doing."  
  
He looked at her, trying to show his feelings with his eyes rather than with his  
voice. "You didn't need to...do this."  
  
Bartlet stood and put his arm around Toby's shoulders. "Open it."  
  
With trembling fingers, Toby undid the wrapping and found a glass case full of  
pens.  
  
"I know that you prefer the old-fashioned, Toby, so I took the liberty of having  
some friends put together this collection."  
  
He didn't know if he could say anything without losing his composure, so he just  
nodded, running his finger over silver and gold barrels. He managed to smile at  
Abbey, then he sat down and covered his eyes with one hand for a few moments.  
  
They were thanking him. They'd taken him in when he had nowhere to go and  
nothing to do. They'd built him, for all practical purposes, a house. They'd fed  
him and consulted him on everything and made him part of their extraordinary  
family. And still, they felt the need to thank him.  
  
It was, surprisingly, Josh who got him out of his predicament. "Toby, I didn't  
get a lot of sleep last night and it was crowded on the train, so maybe..."  
  
Thank God for Josh Lyman, and how many times would he ever get the opportunity  
to think that?  
  
After good-nights had been exchanged with the Bartlets, Toby and Josh returned  
to the carriage house in silence, Josh scuffing his way across the gravel path  
while Toby looked from him up to the stars. "Thanks," he mumbled.  
  
"You're welcome. I know you'd do the same for me." Josh opened the door - with  
this much security on the property, a lock would have been superfluous and  
almost insulting - and immediately went to one of the Glenlivet bottles. He  
opened it and poured two glasses, one for himself and one for Toby. "Happy  
birthday," he said.  
  
The scotch felt wonderful, soothing his tight throat and itchy nerves. Toby sat  
down in the leather desk chair and motioned for Josh to find a seat. They drank  
the first two glasses in silence, then moved on to their third by toasting C.J.  
  
"I should call her," Josh slurred.  
  
"Not now." Toby was pleasantly buzzed, but Josh was beginning to look sleepy.  
"Wait until you're not, you know, plastered."  
  
"'Kay." Josh wasn't usually such an agreeable drunk, but then it wasn't every  
day that he was left by a wife who decided she didn't need him or any other man.  
  
That had to suck.  
  
To get his mind on other things, Toby asked, "How's the bipartisan commission  
coming? Are you actually able to accomplish anything, or is everyone too busy  
complimenting each other on staying out of trouble?"  
  
"No, it's good. it's really good. Sam's amazing." Josh took another sip, then  
upended the glass to get the last drops out. "He stands up at the table, and  
everyone in the room takes notes. Two sentences later, they're hooked, and at  
the end of five minutes he's got them on their feet. He can get more done, can  
get more people to follow his lead, than anyone I've ever known."  
  
Toby pointed in what he hoped was the direction of the house. "Even him?"  
  
Josh was either considering the question or trying to stay vertical. He paused,  
furrowing his brow. "Yes. Even him."  
  
That was a lot - if he could believe that Josh was operating on enough brain  
cells to make that kind of evaluation. Toby opened the second bottle and poured  
some into both glasses. "Looks like we're going to pick up a lot of seats in the  
midterms."  
  
That made Josh smile for real, and he chuckled into his glass. "We're going to  
rule Congress. And even the Republicans we can't beat want to get in on the  
action to get social programs going, because to turn their backs on 'the people'  
would be suicide."  
  
"Hmm."  
  
They sat quietly for a few minutes. Then they looked at one another. Two minds  
forming the same conclusion. One that sobered them both up.  
  
"Seaborn for America."  
  
They said it together. And again.  
  
"Seaborn for America."  
  
Oh, God, this was going to be so good. Toby scooted his chair closer to the desk  
and started searching for legal pads. And one of the new pens, a gorgeous  
Pelikan that he filled reverently with the finest black ink he owned. Josh stood  
up, wobbling a little, and began to read over his shoulder.  
  
"Yeah, that's good. That's good, too. And...that." He leaned over and pointed to  
something. "What about health care?"  
  
"I'm getting to that!"  
  
"And we need a strategy to mobilize the South. They're not going to give up the  
old ways without something really, really good."  
  
"Working on it."  
  
And they did, far into the night, arguing genially and not so genially, eating  
leftover cake and drinking strong, black coffee. But even caffeine couldn't keep  
them up forever and eventually Josh staggered to bed while Toby collapsed on the  
sofa.  
  
***  
  
"Did we," Josh asked blearily the following morning as they nursed hangovers at  
the kitchen table, "actually form the Committee to Elect Sam Seaborn last  
night?"  
  
"I'm pretty sure that was a major part of our evening."  
  
"Hmm." Josh took a sip of coffee, then made a face and set it aside. "What,  
exactly, did we formulate? And how stupid will we feel when we go back over it?"  
  
"Don't know." It hurt to talk. It hurt even more to get up, but Toby meandered  
to the desk and brought back the yellow pad. All one hundred pages were covered  
in his handwriting and Josh's sloppy circles and stars. "Here."  
  
They pored over it. One would point to something and the other would nod, and  
Toby made corrections in the margin with pencil as they went along. An hour  
later Toby's headache had subsided and Josh looked positively gleeful.  
  
"Know what's amazing?" Josh asked, bouncing a little in his chair.  
  
"That we can spell when we're drunk?"  
  
"Nope." Josh turned his head and flashed a brilliant smile, the one he brought  
out when he was about to score a major victory. And in spite of the weary lines  
on his face and the red rims around his eyes, Josh looked like a teenager  
getting the keys to his first car. "It's that this looks even better when we're  
sober."  
  
Toby grabbed the phone and pushed some buttons. He asked to speak to Senator  
Seaborn, and was surprised to hear from Ginger that Sam had gone home for the  
day. "Is he sick?" Toby asked.  
  
"Not that I know of - he got a call, then he just said he needed to go home and  
to cancel his day. You have his number, right?"  
  
"Yeah. Thanks, Ginger." Toby hung up and spent a few moments stroking his beard.  
  
"What?" Josh asked. He was way, way too wired for the morning after a major  
drinking binge, Toby thought.  
  
"Sam left for the day. Went home."  
  
"Huh." Josh didn't seem impressed. "Well, call him."  
  
"Okay." Toby dialed Sam's home number and waited until someone picked up. "Hey,  
Sam, it's me."  
  
"Toby! Is Josh okay?"  
  
"Josh is fine, he's standing right here, and we want to talk to you about  
something. Something serious. Not dangerous, serious, but...important."  
  
Sam seemed distracted. Toby could imagine the crinkles in his forehead as he  
spoke. "Serious? Is this a thing? 'Cause there's something going on here..."  
  
Josh grabbed at the phone, but Toby kept it in his firm grasp. "Sam, listen. We  
think you should run for President. We've got a lot of strategy already mapped  
out."  
  
"Yeah, that sounds good."  
  
"What did he say?" Josh asked in a stage whisper.  
  
It was Toby's turn to look distracted. "He said he thinks that sounds good."  
Into the phone he said, "Sam? What's going on?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Sam, did you hear me when I said you should run for President?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Josh shifted his weight from foot to foot, making a "what" gesture with both  
hands. Toby shrugged and tried again. "Want me to call you back later?"  
  
"Sure." Sam took a deep breath. "Toby?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Nina just told me...we're pregnant."  
  
"Pregnant?" Toby exclaimed.  
  
Josh's eyebrows went straight up.  
  
"Yeah. We're having a baby in December. I gotta go. And happy belated birthday,  
Toby."  
  
Sam hung up. Toby hung up. Toby exchanged a stunned glance with Josh.  
  
"Something tells me," Josh said, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling, "that you  
and I are going to have to handle this on our own."  
  
Shrugging, Toby reached for a fresh legal pad. "You up to it?"  
  
"I got nothing better to do." Josh sat on the edge of the desk and reached for a  
pencil. "Let's elect a President."  
  
***   
Part Five   
  



	5. 5 of 5

***   
Los Angeles   
September   
***  
  
"I love you, Donna."  
  
C.J. heard Donna's high laughter over the phone line. "It fits?"  
  
"Oh, it fits. I can't believe you did this." C.J. stood in front of the hotel  
room mirror, admiring herself in the sparkling golden gown that made her look  
like a goddess. It clung in the right places, concealed the right things, and  
made her legs look like they went on forever.  
  
And the label said Gary Tennenberg.  
  
Yes, she was more than able to buy a gown from his outrageously priced boutique  
on Madison Avenue, but she'd longed for one that was made only for her. One that  
no other woman at tonight's show could possibly be wearing, yet one that would  
make their jaws drop.  
  
Wouldn't hurt if Toby liked it, either.  
  
"How does it look?"  
  
"It looks...where was this guy when I was 25?" She sighed. "Things aren't where  
they were, if you know what I mean."  
  
"He sent some things...to fix that. Look in the little bag. They go on like  
bandaids."  
  
C.J. rummaged around in the plastic bag and found the adhesive pads. She put the  
phone between her ear and her shoulder and reached inside the dress, still  
talking to Donna. "I wasn't sure about the pink lining, but it really does take  
a few years off my face. Or maybe a few weeks. Whatever. It's great, and you're  
great, and...why am I going on and on like this?"  
  
"Because you're about to walk the red carpet in front of the Shrine Auditorium  
and get an Emmy award," Donna said. The matter-of-fact tone didn't hide her  
excitement. She'd come up to New York the day after the nominations and had  
spent the next morning shopping with C.J. for press conference and party  
clothes, as happy as if she were the nominee. From Tavern on the Green she'd  
pulled out her cell phone and dialed Gary Tennenberg's workroom, and by three in  
the afternoon C.J. was being measured by the man himself. "I don't take a lot of  
clients, but I'm always willing to make an exception for La Bella Donna."  
  
Such a long way from the waif who'd appeared on the Bartlet for America  
doorstep. "I wish you were here," C.J. said softly.  
  
"Got butterflies in your stomach?"  
  
"The butterflies have butterflies. I won't know what to say. What if I make a  
face when they announce someone else winning?"  
  
"Won't happen. Where's Toby?"  
  
"His plane was delayed, but he called me from the cab and said he should be here  
any minute. God, how do actors go through this every year?"  
  
"Just relax, have a great time, and know that we'll all be crammed into Josh's  
apartment because he has the biggest tv. We'll be cheering for you."  
  
"Thanks, Donna. Talk to you tomorrow?"  
  
"We're expecting that. Love you!"  
  
C.J. inspected herself again. Just a little sag of the jawline, but her  
cheekbones were as good as ever and her eyes were clear and bright. She heard  
the key card in the lock and stood up straight, sucking in an imaginary tummy  
and trying to look as if she weren't scared to death.  
  
Toby didn't even put down his bag, just strode forward and kissed her. A little  
rough, a little needy. A little in awe. "My God. You are stunning."  
  
"You like it?"  
  
"Like what?"  
  
She rolled her eyes. "My pantyhose, Toby." When he looked down, puzzled, she  
gave him a light tap on the head. "The dress. This dress."  
  
"I didn't notice the dress," Toby whispered as he let go of his suitcase. "I got  
distracted by, you know, what the dress is concealing." He put his hands on her  
hips and drew her close so that her back was against his chest. One hand splayed  
across her abdomen and the other drew circles on her bare back.  
  
"Is that an Emmy in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?"  
  
He groaned into her neck. "We don't have time, do we?"  
  
"Nope. You need to get into your tux and our limo's coming in about fifteen  
minutes, so time's of the essence."  
  
"Later tonight," Toby assured her as he grabbed his bag and headed for the  
bathroom, "I'm taking that dress off with my teeth, C.J., I swear to God."  
  
"I'm counting on that." Smiling, she put a few touch-up items in her  
extravagantly expensive gold purse and stood by the window, waiting for Toby.  
  
She owed so much of this evening to her friends. Sure, her program had been a  
hit, but she knew perfectly well which interview had clinched her nomination.  
And without Sam's thoroughness, without Josh's wily ability to get people to  
open up about what they knew...this wouldn't have happened.  
  
A coalition of Republicans and Democrats would never have formed. The rights of  
the poor, of minorities, of all sorts of disenfranchised people, would have been  
left alone for fear of political suicide instead of being embraced, as they were  
right now.  
  
The world can move, or not...  
  
Toby. She could never have done any of this without Toby. From the moment he  
watched her slosh out of her pool, a chlorinated baptism, he had shaped her,  
mentored her. Loved her.  
  
And now he was standing at her side, dressed in his custom-made tux, reaching  
for her hand. He brought it to his lips. "Let's go," he whispered against her  
knuckles.  
  
They rode to the auditorium in silence, holding hands, watching the palm trees  
and the cyclists. When the driver stopped, Toby helped C.J. out of the car and  
immediately the crowd started screaming and cameras clicked away. In spite of  
Toby's low profile, the couple managed to keep a pretty respectable buzz in the  
gossip community - to C.J.'s amusement and Toby's hand-wringing dismay.  
  
She was interviewed - local media, someone from Entertainment Tonight,  
photographers from Vogue, People, and other glossy magazines she never had the  
inclination to read. And, inevitably, she found herself in front of Joan Rivers.  
  
"She's still alive?" Toby whispered into her ear, and she jabbed him with her  
purse.  
  
"Keep a low profile - maybe she won't see us."  
  
"Of course she won't see us - she's had so many facelifts that her breasts are  
covering her eyes."  
  
It was then that they were able to hear the woman's voice, the sickly,  
quavering, nasal alto. "Over there is Claudia Jean Cregg, the clotheshorse of  
NBC. Can we get a close on her dress, since I'm sure she won't deign to speak to  
me?" Rivers waited a moment before continuing. "Well, it's a nice dress, and  
she's got a decent body for a woman her age. But still - who does she think  
she's kidding?" With that, she turned away and began to paw some nubile sitcom  
actress.  
  
C.J. stood stock still, not listening to the question she was being asked.  
Instead she watched in dumbfounded horror as Toby walked over to Rivers and  
tapped her on the shoulder.  
  
"Excuse me, Ms. Rivers."  
  
"Hold on!"  
  
"No, I don't think I will."  
  
C.J., who by this time had covered her eyes with her hands, now opened her  
fingers so she could peek at the P.R. nightmare unfolding right in front of her.  
  
"You've insulted the woman I love," Toby said. "That would be Ms. Cregg,  
standing over there and looking a hell of a lot better than you ever could have  
hoped."  
  
This was going out live. People were watching this. Thousands of people.  
Millions. Watching Toby towering over the old bag and waving his finger in her  
face.  
  
"For years you've had carte blanche to say whatever meaningless, catty things  
come into your wizened brain. But I say, right here, right now, no more! No.  
More."  
  
"I have a right--"  
  
"Yes, you have a right to be stupid. You even have a right to be rude. But I  
have a right - a responsibility - to call you on it. And since I know you don't  
have the breeding to apologize, I'm just going to face this camera, over here.  
Over here, don't worry, it's okay," he said, beckoning to the astonished video  
operator. "On Ms. Cregg's behalf, I'm donating an amount of money equal to the  
hand-made Tennenberg gown she's wearing to the charity of your choice, Ms.  
Rivers. What's it going to be?"  
  
The woman just gaped at him.  
  
"Tell you what. When you find a charity, have your people call my people. That  
would be President Josiah Bartlet and Dr. Abigail Bartlet. Don't hesitate to let  
them know where the money will be going."  
  
With that, he stalked over to C.J. and put his arm around her shoulders, guiding  
her toward the main entrance. "That was my entertainment for the evening. Now  
let's go pick out a statue for you."  
  
***   
Washington, D.C.   
***  
  
Speechless.  
  
Josh froze with his hand in the popcorn bowl. Nina leaned forward as much as her  
increased size would allow, her hands in front of her mouth. Matt, who was  
sitting next to Donna, squeezed her arm so hard that she would have shrieked in  
protest had she been focused enough to know it was happening.  
  
Sam sat still, blinking rapidly, his mouth opening and closing with no sound  
coming out.  
  
Holy hell.  
  
His cell phone rang. "Please, God, don't let it be the Post," he moaned as he  
flipped the phone open. "Sam Seaborn."  
  
"Did you see that!" It was Abbey, shouting into the phone. "He told her off. On  
nationwide television!"  
  
"Yes, he certainly did." He put the phone to his shoulder for a moment. "It's  
Abbey," he said to the others, who ordinarily would've shouted greetings but  
tonight just waved in the general direction of the phone.  
  
"Jed's about to burst an artery. Is Toby going to be in some sort of trouble?"  
  
"I don't think so. He didn't physically threaten her. I mean, the people at E!  
aren't going to love him, but they can't do anything about a comment made in a  
public place. Plus, it's not as if he hadn't been provoked."  
  
"So he's not going to be, you know, arrested or anything."  
  
"No. Although I suspect C.J. may hold him captive, later on."  
  
Abbey breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, then, I'll let you go. Just wanted to  
make sure we weren't going to have to fly to California and bail him out of  
jail. Give everyone my love."  
  
"I'll do that." He hung up the phone. "She sends her love."  
  
Silence.  
  
This was going to be an inspiring night.  
  
***   
Los Angeles   
***  
  
"And the Emmy for 'Variety or Interview' goes to..." Brokaw didn't even bother  
to suppress his smile. "C.J. Cregg, 'Practical Politics,' NBC."  
  
Toby realized that C.J. was just sitting there, smiling politely and applauding.  
She'd been so nervous that she hadn't heard her name called.  
  
"Who won?" she asked through her teeth.  
  
"That would be...you."  
  
She shifted in her chair as the applause swelled and the theme song from her  
show began a second time. Toby gave her a little push at the small of the back  
and she rose, looking dazed, and let the ushers help her up the stairs.  
  
Brokaw handed her the statue and stepped back, applauding. Then the audience got  
to its feet and Toby couldn't see her again until he rose as well, watching with  
amazement as C.J. pulled herself up to her full height and motioned that she was  
ready to begin.  
  
"Thank you - this is an unexpected honor. I really only came tonight to show off  
my dress. Do you like it?"  
  
The crowd cheered.  
  
***   
Washington, D.C.   
***  
  
The crowd cheered.  
  
Nina wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "Damn hormones," she said, but then she saw  
tears in Donna's eyes as well, and Josh's, although he did his best to hide  
them. And Sam's, as he leaned over to kiss her.  
  
"She's so beautiful," Josh murmured. "Look at her. How did we not know that  
until now?"  
  
"The rest of us have always known." Donna blew her nose on the paper napkin that  
had been around her glass. "Figures that it'd take you longer."  
  
***   
Manchester   
***  
  
They held hands and watched, full of pride, as C.J. held the statue aloft.  
  
"That's our girl," Bartlet said to his wife, and for once she didn't bother to  
correct his choice of words, because she was too busy dabbing at her eyes.  
  
***   
Los Angeles   
***  
  
"I don't have a speech prepared. I came with a speechwriter, but unless he's  
doing something with magic marker on the back of the program, I'm on my own."  
  
She'd never expected this, not even when newspapers across the country said that  
she was a sure thing. She'd kept her expectations low, and now she was in front  
of a camera with no idea what to say next.  
  
Finding Toby in the crowd, she smiled at him. "Thank you, members of the  
Academy, and my peers in the broadcast news industry. I'm honored - and touched.  
And more than a little scared." Her hands trembled, so she set the statue down  
on the podium. "It has been an honor and a privilege to be a part of 'Practical  
Politics.' I'd be remiss if I didn't thank everyone involved in the production -  
but I'd be more remiss if I tried, because I'd just leave someone out and that  
would get me into hot water.  
  
"Instead, I'd like to dedicate this to someone who saw potential in a  
freshly-unemployed P.R. person, who shepherded her through the trying process of  
becoming the face and voice of a campaign and a Presidency. Who believed." She  
stopped, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Who believed," she said again.  
  
"With love, and respect, and a gratitude that will last forever - this statue  
belongs to Leo McGarry, and I hope that, wherever he is, he knows how much I owe  
him. Thank you very much."  
  
She didn't hear the roar of the crowd, but she was aware of Toby's proud gaze.  
Felt it backstage when he sidled up beside the crowd of photographers, Saw it as  
he looked at her with such longing that she wanted desperately to bolt, to run  
away with him and never, ever look back.  
  
But soon there were other, more glamorous people to photograph, and C.J. was  
taken to a quiet room off to one side of the stage. She sat on the edge of a  
small, tapestried chair, the statue clutched in her shaking hands.  
  
Toby entered and walked in front of her, then sat on his heels and covered her  
hands with his. "You were good," he said simply.  
  
"I can think on my feet," she replied, blowing a lock of hair away from her  
face.  
  
He kept looking at her, the love in his warm, dark eyes making the blood rush to  
her cheeks. "You can also think off your feet."  
  
A slow, sexy smile worked its way across her face. She'd be missed at the  
parties, but that didn't matter. Didn't mean anything. All that mattered was  
Toby.  
  
So she stood up, smoothing the beaded silk of her gown, and held her hand out to  
him. "I think we left the meter running," she whispered, and they laughed as  
they made their way through the glittering crowds.  
  
***   
Washington, D.C.   
Georgetown Hospital   
December   
***  
  
Josh shrugged out of his coat as he joined Matt and Donna in the waiting room.  
"I know I'm late to the party, but why are there protesters outside the  
hospital?"  
  
"They're expressing displeasure at the manner in which Nina is giving birth."  
Donna sounded completely, utterly disdainful.  
  
Josh was utterly confused. "There's more than one way? I mean, don't babies  
pretty much come, standard, from the same place?"  
  
Matt shook his head and chuckled. "There are two factions outside - and they  
don't like each other very much, either. One group says that Nina, as the wife  
of an influential politician, should set an example for women everywhere and  
have her baby at home with a midwife. Another says that she's welcome to have  
the baby in a hospital, but only if she agrees to do so without pain  
medication."  
  
"And that's not, you know, incredibly intrusive?" Josh raked his hand through  
his hair.  
  
"That's pretty much what Nina told them as the nurses put her into the  
wheelchair. Only she was in the middle of a contraction and she maybe didn't put  
it quite so nicely." Donna smirked as she moved over to allow Josh enough room  
on the little couch.  
  
They pretended to work at their laptops, looking up at the clock once in a while  
and getting nervous every time a doctor or nurse passed by.  
  
Josh got up and started to pace. "Sit down, Josh," Matt and Donna said in  
chorus, and he took his place sheepishly.  
  
"How long is this likely to take?" he asked, earning glares from the people on  
either side of him.  
  
Donna somehow managed to roll her eyes without looking away from her laptop.  
"I'll feed you to the protesters if you don't cut that out. It takes as long as  
it takes. You'd think this was your baby, the way you're going on."  
  
He'd thought Amy was pregnant. If she had been, it might have been his baby he  
was waiting for today.  
  
Put those thoughts away, he told himself. This isn't about you. "Is Nina's  
father here?" he asked instead.  
  
"He's on his way - he was in London on business, so he's probably going to get  
here too late for the birth, but in plenty of time for the christening." Matt  
stretched his long legs in front of him and yawned. "We told C.J. and Toby, of  
course, and Toby told the Bartlets."  
  
"What about Sam's parents?"  
  
Matt shrugged. "His mother wouldn't come unless we could assure her his father  
wouldn't come. And vice-versa, so it was a stalemate. We're supposed to call  
when we know something."  
  
Josh looked over Matt's shoulder toward the door. Sam stood in the doorway,  
wearing the ugliest green scrubs Josh had ever seen.  
  
And the most infatuated smile.  
  
"It's a girl," he whispered.  
  
Donna leapt to her feet and threw her arms around Sam, unmindful of the spatters  
of blood here and there. She kissed him on the cheek and tousled his hair. "Way  
to go! How's Nina?"  
  
"She's groggy and tired, but she's fine. The baby weighs seven pounds even, and  
she's...she's so beautiful." Sam opened his arms and draped them around Josh and  
Matt. "They're weighing her and stuff, but I wanted to come in and tell you."  
  
  
"When can we see her?" Donna asked.  
  
"They said half an hour or so, as soon as they get Nina in a regular room. I've  
got to get back there," he added, gesturing vaguely. "Can someone call my  
parents?"  
  
"I'm on it." Donna waved her cell phone. "I'll have to go outside, though.  
Someone tell me when we can see Nina and the baby."  
  
"I'll come get you." Josh turned around and hugged Sam around the waist.  
"Congratulations, Sam."  
  
"Thanks. Wait, you're gonna get...all over you." Sam backed up and pulled the  
ties at the back of his neck, then balled the scrubs up and looked around. A  
passing orderly took the bundle, grinning, and tossed it neatly into a hazardous  
waste container.  
  
"Thank you," Matt called after him. "You go on and get Nina settled, and we'll  
just wait here until someone tells us it's okay."  
  
"See you in a few minutes." Sam bolted down the hall.  
  
Josh put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "Something tells me he's not  
going to have the candidacy on his mind for a while."  
  
"We'll fill in," Matt declared. "Do you think Donna's going to tell the press,  
or should someone from Sam's office take care of that?"  
  
"Good question." Josh scowled at nothing in particular. "See, this is why we've  
got to get more organized in the next month or so. We need faces and voices so  
you and I can concentrate on platform."  
  
"I agree. But let's not get into that right now." Matt waved at Donna, who was  
coming back into the waiting area. "Did you call--?"  
  
"C.J., Toby, and a separate call to the Bartlets. Sam's parents, Ginger - who's  
getting someone from the Press Office to make a statement..."  
  
Josh smiled. That was the Donna he knew. Efficient and quick. No wonder Matt was  
doing so well.  
  
"...and the personnel director at the A.S.O."  
  
By the time she had finished telling them, over and over, what she'd said to  
each of the people she'd talked to, a nurse came by and ushered them to a room  
further down the hall. Matt went in first, with his hand on Donna's elbow, and  
Josh followed behind.  
  
Nina was propped up in a nest of pillows, her damp hair tied back from her face  
with a white band. She looked up at her visitors and smiled. "Hey, look what I  
did," she said, pointing to the pink bundle in her arms.  
  
"I like to think I had a hand in this," Sam protested.  
  
"You had more than a hand in it," was Nina's comeback.  
  
"Glad to know you've kept your sense of humor." Matt leaned over and kissed her,  
then looked approvingly at the baby. "Very nice. Hey, Donna, think Gary would do  
a christening gown?"  
  
"Possibly, once he sees how gorgeous she is!" Donna exclaimed as she took a peek  
over Matt's shoulder. "Josh, have you ever seen such a beautiful baby?"  
  
Josh, who was of the opinion that all babies looked pretty much alike, went  
through the motions. "She's got, you know, hair and stuff."  
  
"And fingers, and toes, and fingernails, and everything." Nina traced the baby's  
mouth with one finger. "We're naming her Helen. That was my mother's name."  
Tears filled Nina's eyes and slipped down her cheeks. "I wish she could be here  
to see this..."  
  
"You're worn out. We'll come back tomorrow, okay?" Donna, whose eyes were  
shining with sympathetic tears, embraced Nina and motioned for the men to come  
with her.  
  
"I'm sorry - I'll be better tomorrow. And Sam, will you tell them?"  
  
"Right." Sam nodded, still looking dazed, and stepped into the hall with his  
friends.  
  
"Tell us what?" Josh asked, dipping his chin as he examined Sam's face for any  
sign of trouble.  
  
Sam cleared his throat. "We're going to have the christening on Thursday, if  
Nina's up to it. Just for family, at St. Stephen's."  
  
"I can help Ginger with the arrangements," Donna volunteered, but Sam cut her  
off with a smile and a shake of his head.  
  
"I need you to do another job for me. I'd like you to be Helen's godmother."  
  
That started the waterworks for real. Donna hiccupped as she threw her arms  
around Sam and whispered that she'd be honored.  
  
Patting Donna's back, Sam said that Helen would need a godfather as well. "Matt?  
Would you be willing?"  
  
Matt glanced from Sam to Josh, then back to Sam. "With pleasure," he said, but  
his voice sounded questioning.  
  
Abstracted as Sam was, he picked up on the hint. "Josh, you know that there's no  
one in the world I--"  
  
"I understand, Sam. It's okay." He smiled even though he was more than a little  
hurt. "Really."  
  
"No, it's not," Sam sighed. "But the religion thing. You wouldn't be comfortable  
raising a Gentile child, Josh. Besides, Toby would kick your ass if you tried  
it."  
  
"More than likely. Don't worry, Sam. I got to be your best man. I can settle for  
second-best man. And you know I won't love Helen any less, right?"  
  
"I know that. Thanks for understanding." Sam inclined his head toward Nina's  
room. "I don't want to leave her by herself - will you visit in the morning?"  
  
"Wouldn't miss it." Matt put his arm around Donna's shoulder and turned her in  
the direction of the elevator. Josh followed behind and got into the elevator  
with them.  
  
"You handled that really well," Donna said after a few quiet moments, and to  
Josh's surprise she reached for his hand and threaded her fingers through his.  
"I'm very proud of you."  
  
"Thank you," he said quietly, and for the first time in two years the veil of  
awkwardness between them began to lift.  
  
At least until he saw Matt looking at him with a combination of skepticism and  
alarm.  
  
***   
St. Stephen's Church   
***  
  
Helen reacted with remarkable aplomb as she was christened, squirming just a  
little in Donna's arms while the priest blessed her. Matt, who held Helen's  
tiny hand, grinned broadly when the baby's eyes focused on him. They returned  
Helen to her parents at the reception and turned around as Bartlet lifted a  
glass of champagne.  
  
"We're here to celebrate new life, of course, but there's more than one meaning  
to that. I'd like to start by recognizing a few new things and the people who  
brought them about. New life's right here among us, and new beginnings, and even  
a new direction for our beloved nation. To Josh, Toby, and the bottle of  
Glenlivet that Donna sent for Toby's birthday, the bottle of Glenlivet that Nina  
sent for Toby's birthday, and the fact that C.J. was in San Francisco on Toby's  
birthday, thereby leaving an opportunity for the consumption of Glenlivet and  
the making of history." He paused while everyone laughed. "It didn't hurt that  
Sam was a little preoccupied that night, either.  
  
"But I digress. We're here to launch Helen into the world, the face that  
launched a thousand ships, and the little hand that's pulling on her daddy's tie  
in such an enchanting fashion." He took the white-clad bundle from her father  
and held her in his own arms. "What a life you'll have, my beautiful little  
angel, with your mommy's curls and your daddy's big blue eyes. You'll have their  
music and words, all the best of art and philosophy, all at your tiny  
fingertips. Although your daddy may be so busy ridding the house of gentlemen  
callers that you might not see as much of him as you'd like. But his protective  
love will be there with you, and his conscience, and your mother's intelligence  
and unwavering devotion. You'll have Donna and Matt as spiritual guides, and no  
finer examples are there in the world. With witty, clever Aunt C.J. at your  
side, you'll never be at a loss for words. Even less so around your Uncle Toby.  
Although he may teach you some words your parents would just as soon you didn't  
use."  
  
Toby glowered, but he didn't fool anyone.  
  
"God only knows what Uncle Josh has in store for you. Possibly a city council  
job instead of a lemonade stand. And don't forget about Abbey and me, the extra  
set of grandparents who aren't afraid of diapers, fifth grade math homework,  
first love, or those little rubber bands they put on braces." Jed leaned over  
and kissed Helen's rosy cheek.  
  
"Welcome to the world, Helen Miranda Seaborn. Welcome to your family - and this  
family, your extended one - and may you grow up in a house full of love,  
gentleness, and peace."  
  
As he brought the baby back to Nina, Bartlet paused with his hand on Sam's  
shoulder. "I just hope that house is the big white one."  
  
***  
  
End "Healthy Irreverence."   
To the next section: "The Surest Wisdom."  



End file.
